


And I'm filling up the pages (with everything you are)

by jormaperalta



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, SO IT IS BOTH, also posted on Tumblr, basically jake and amy nerd out about each other while Jake is in witsec, i wasn't sure whether to make this angst or fluff, my au take on what will happen for peraltiago in florida, peraltiago af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 19:04:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7695808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jormaperalta/pseuds/jormaperalta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To lessen the pain of being away from their true loves, Jake (in Florida) and Amy (in New York) make scrapbooks to commemorate their times apart to share with them upon their return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I'm filling up the pages (with everything you are)

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to @youngsamberg on tumblr because Lauren is a goddamn sweetheart and helped motivate me with this, and also my wifey @dr-jill-holtzmann for being a babe.

“Larry, I heard a commotion and used my emergency key to gain entrance- oh my,” Greg says upon viewing Jake in _Larry’s_ kitchen.

“Hey, G,” Jake says coolly, casually, as he stands around the shattered remains of half his dishes. “Sup?”

“Jesus, what did you do?” Holt says, and Jake has to remind himself that Holt is reacting as Greg Brennan. Not Raymond Holt.

“Smashed some plates,” Jake says, somewhat obviously.

“Yes I was able to ascertain that. But why?”

Jake exhales, slowly. His pulse is still racing from his freak out. “I had to buy a new comforter.”

Holt’s face betrays nothing. “Why?”

“I spilled orange soda on it, and it got ruined.”

“And so you went to buy a new one?” Holt clarifies, eyes landing on the Bed Bath and Beyond bag with the case of a comforter in it. Still a detective with crazy observational skills. That’s mildly reassuring. “Why did that make you destroy your dishware?”

Jake would have answered like “idk lol crazy right??? Wanna watch the Nets game?”

Larry answers the truth, because Larry understands emotions better than Jake does. “It was too domestic. The… movers,” Jake refers to their code name for the FBI, “Set up all the stuff in the house and that was supposed to be that. But then _I_ had to pick this thing out. I- I’m making an impact here. I’m stuck in this muggy-ass hellhole and I’m supposed to make it a home without Amy? Charles? Rosa? Gina? Terry? My mom? Fuck, man,” Jake rubs his hands over his face and he takes a deep breath, “How am I supposed to do that?”

Holt studies him for a long moment, then leaves the room. Jake exhales in slight relief but mostly fear until Holt nearly immediately comes back with a broom and dustpan.

And then, to Jake’s mild surprise, he starts cleaning up the shards. “We do not know how temporary this move will be, Larry,” Holt says, while Jake just stands there, like a useless lamp. “It isn’t fair, and I understand your emotions, but it is unreasonable to assume we won’t adapt to living here.”

Jake feels like an ass just standing around so he takes the dustpan and holds it while Holt continues talking and sweeping, “It doesn’t make you a bad person, or a bad friend or a bad paramour.” A ghost of a smile flashes on Jake’s face at that specific term. “It means you’re human. Nature dictates we burrow ourselves in a nest. I’d be more surprise if you weren’t going to adapt to here. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard.” Jake says nothing to that.

Once all the shards are cleaned, they sit against Jake’s cabinets on the floor and it oddly reminds him of getting drunk in his apartment during the academy with Rosa and some other academy buddies after bad days, except they’re both sober right now.

Jake breaks the silence, “I don’t want Florida to be home without Amy in it.”  
Holt says nothing for a moment, but then he breaks his own silence, “Might I make a suggestion?”

“Go ahead, Greg.”

It’s been a month and that name still tastes weird in his mouth, like broccoli not doused in cheese.

“When Santiago cares about and respects someone, I find that she makes scrapbooks to commemorate and immortalize. Scrapbooks are homemade books filled with photos, captions, and various bric-a-brac-”

“What,” Jake asks, but kind of flatly.

Holt continues as if he didn’t speak, “I bet if you documented your life here in a scrapbook and showed Amy, it could be a way to combine the two worlds when you return.”

Jake leans his head against the cupboard. “That’s a great idea sir- uh, Greg. Sir Greg. Just a normal thing I call my neighbor-friend-”

“We are alone, Larry,” Holt says, and looks like he’s trying not to look amused. “But precaution is definitely preferred.” He sighs and then says, “Tomorrow, we will get you scrapbook crafts. And more orange soda. And dishware. Preferably of the non-breakable variety. I assume Gabe,” That’s Kevin’s WITSEC alter-ego. “Would also like to attend. We could make an outing out of it. Get you out of your- _the_ house.”

Jake definitely smiles now, “Thanks. For everything.”

Holt pulls himself to a standing position, “Oh don’t bother thanking me. I like doing nice things for my neighbor-friends,” He says as he brushes his checkered shorts off. “Get a good night’s sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow.”

And with that, Raymond Jacob “Gregory Trent ‘Greg’ Brennan” Holt is off. And Jake’s alone in Larry Waltmeyer’s house. But, oddly enough, that doesn’t completely fill him with dread for the first time that month.

+

“Hey Gina, can you pass me the Phillips head screwdriver?” Amy asks, trying to put together a piece of Ikea furniture that Jake bought but never assembled.

“Sorry boo, busy,” Gina says from her perch on Amy’s sofa, sprawled majestically under a patterned blanket.

“Jesus, why bother coming if you’re just going to sit around? You don’t need to be in my apartment to do that,” Amy snaps at her.

Rosa, Charles, and surprisingly Gina all look up at her. Rosa’s face is stoic as usual, Charles’s is shocked, and Gina’s is Sparkle Surprise. “You okay, Amy?” Charles asks, now looking concerned as he stops setting up Jake’s massage chair.

“I’m fine,” Amy says, plastering on a fake smile. “I just want the screwdriver.”

With a sigh, Gina tosses the screwdriver from the toolbox beside her and it lands near Amy’s bent knees. Amy continues working. Everything is silent, except for the sounds of rustling and shifting furniture, but she has the strong, gut-feeling that her friends are studying her. “What?” She asks, then looks up. They _are_ all studying her. She isn’t a detective for nothing.

“You’re taking this very seriously,” Rosa says as she rearranges photos on Amy’s desk. The picture of her and Jake beating the Vulture is front and center, causing her heart to clench. “More so than normal.”

“What seriously?”

Gina snorts, “We’ve been helping you move Jake’s crap in for three weeks now. And nothing is how you like it.”

“It needs to be perfect,” Amy says obviously. “For when Jake gets back.”

“Oh, I see what this is,” Charles says, moving over to sit down next to her. “Jake is a perfect human being, and this apartment needs to reflect that-”

“Jesus, Boyle,” Rosa says, moving away from her spot to come closer. “Amy’s depressed or whatever because she’s not moving in and being all coupley shit with Peralta, because she’s doing it with us.”

“ _Amy_ ,” Gina gasps, “I am an ethereal being of pure light, you should be honored-”

“I just miss Jake!” Amy snaps and they all recoil. But that doesn’t stop her, she keeps going, “I am trying to make our apartment nice for him but I can’t stop thinking about how Jake should be doing this with me or if he’ll even see this, guys what if he never comes back and I move all his stuff into the apartment and he’s gone and all I do is see him everywhere-” Amy can’t breathe and all the words have left her. She’s having a panic attack. Dammit, she hates these. But she hates having them in front of people more. 

“Amy-” Rosa goes for her, but Charles gets there first.

“Amy Santiago, listen to me,” Charles’s voice is very strong and steady, and that almost disturbs her more than the panic attack, “Breathe in, one two three four,” He does exaggerated breaths to coach her and she listens and follows along immediately. “Out, one two three four.”

They go through this cycle a few times and Amy comes back to herself and controls her breathing. “I’m sorry,” She says, for her reaction and general being.

“Don’t apologize,” Rosa says immediately. “Why were you freaking out?”

Amy clears her throat, “I- I want Jake here. I want us to make our lives together. He’s stuck God Knows Where fearing for his life while I’m here making the apartment look pretty and living my life while he’s not here.”

“Even though you have a boring life, it _does_ have to move forward,” Gina says, her tone nicer than her words, “It’d be stupid to be stagnant.”

“Oddly poetic, Gina,” Charles acknowledges.

“I’m transcendent,” Gina explains, unhelpfully.

Amy just looks down at the floor, playing with the screwdriver, “I just wish he could be here.”

Rosa lets out a long yet somewhat quiet but definitely a groan and moves over to join them on the floor. “You like scrapbooks right?”

Amy nods, wordlessly. They’ve all been teasing her for how many scrapbooks they’ve had to put in dozens in boxes for storage to make room for Jake’s toys.

“Why don’t you make a scrapbook for Jake to read when he gets back?” She says.

Charles gasps, clasping his palms together, “That’s a marvelous idea! Whenever you do something fun or something that Jake likes or anything at all, you can take pictures and put them in the book! When he comes back, you can share with him or whatever like losers,” Unlike Gina, Rosa’s words are a bit rude, but the meaning behind them is nicer.

Amy smiles fully, for the first time in weeks, “That’s a perfect idea! I could do things we used to do together and have fun captions and get some new bric-a-brac-”

“I don’t recall asking, Amaura,” Gina says, using her new nickname for Amy. Rosa’s is “Roserade,” even though Rosa punched her shoulder for it, and Charles’s is “Charmander” because Gina is addicted to Pokemon Go. Amy thinks it’s because she and Jake used to play Pokemon together when they were growing up, but Gina refuses to confirm that.

Amy ignores Gina and turns back to Rosa and Charles, “It’s a good idea, guys. It’ll be a great way to feel connected to Jake.”

Charles holds a hand to his heart, “That’s literally all I want-” He’s interrupted from what was probably going to turn into a soliloquy by his phone ringing. “Oops, it’s Genevieve. I need to go check on her and Ellie.” He gets up and before he leaves he says, “Amy, you and Jake can get through anything.”

And with that, he’s gone.

“What a dork,” Gina says. But Amy’s smiling.

+

Jake’s fingers are tapping out the Funky Cold Medina on repeat on the WITSEC jet that’s taking him, Holt, and Kevin back to New York. It was a long-ass nine months, and Jake is mostly relieved it wasn’t longer, but he’s so ready to go home.

Jimmy Figgis is dead, and Jake didn’t surprise anyone when he fist-pumped and cheered when Debra Donovan, their US Marshall liaison, filled them in on the news.

He looks around the plane. He’s sitting alone of the right side. Debra is in the seat in front of him, probably on her iPad doing work. Holt and Kevin across from him.

Kevin is asleep, his head on his husband’s shoulder. Holt, on the other hand, is filling out some paperwork that Jake _should_ be doing as well, but he’s too busy tapping and doing the finishing touches on his third and final scrapbook. And it’s a doozy.

The first was titled “I’m Horrible At This When Can We Stop: Title Of Our Sex Tape/My First Scrapbook” and it has around 50 pages of a bunch of dumb, mundane stuff he, “Greg,” and “Gabe” did to kill time. The second one is called “Oranges, Disney, and Alligators (Oh My): Adventures of Larry, Greg and Gabe,” when they specifically did tourist stuff and it finished out around 60 pages. The third is more centered on stuff that reminds him of Amy, so he called it “We Never Go Out of (Romantic) Style(z)” and it may or may not be around 100 pages, double-sided (Santiago Style). He likes to think he’s clever when really he had too much time on his hands. Larry didn’t have crazy police detective hours.

He’s a bit nervous with the final page, actually a lot nervous, but he hopes it’ll be worth it.

“Captain Raymond Holt,” Jake says, quietly enough not to wake Kevin but loudly enough to get his attention. He’s been saying his Captain’s full name because it feels so fucking nice not to call him Greg anymore.

“What is it, Jake?” He asks, removing his spectacles and turning to look at him.

“Finished the scrapbook,” Jake says with a proud smile and holds it up. The title is in glitter, but the glitter is protected by a plastic sheet. He still remembers all the cleaning lessons Amy gave him.

“Good use of your time on the flight, son,” Holt says, making sure to tilt his head up at him at that last word. Jake can’t stop the smile on his face. “Greg” wasn’t allowed to call him ‘son’ because it would confuse their elderly, vaguely racist neighbors.

“Thanks, Captain Raymond Holt,” He says. “I hope Amy will like them. And that she’ll still love me after almost a year apart.” Whoops, he didn’t mean to say that last part. Maybe Gr- _Holt_ didn’t notice.

Holt raises an eyebrow ever so slightly, “That was quite a way to end that sentence, Peralta.”

Jake says nothing. Just fiddles with the pages of the closed scrapbook.

“Peralta…” Holt starts but then doesn’t say anything. He seems to restart when he says, “Jacob. I am not talented at expressing myself but… Amy loves you. According to Ms. Donovan, she worked herself to the bone and even further with our squad to catch Figgis. She has faced her fear of the cold for you. She has said that she loves you even though you get blue over everything,” Jake cracks a small smile. “That kind of love doesn’t go away. An unknown person once said ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder,’ and I would assume, perhaps even make a bet if I were a gambler, that you two would be far past adequate,” Holt reassures him, his hand going to rest on Kevin’s thigh. In his sleep, Kevin nuzzles into Holt’s side, causing Jake to grin and Holt to turn a bit pink (pink! He’s _actually_ blushing.)

“I- I apologize for our public display of affection,” Holt says.

Jake fixes a slight, playful, grimace on his face, “Well _I_ don’t mind, but _Debra_ really has a problem with-”

“Shut up, Detective Peralta,” Debra says, without even looking up from her iPad. But she’s smiling. She has endless patience for his shenanigans, just like all of the authority figures in his life.

Holt suppresses a smile, just barely. “All I was trying to say is that I have no doubts about you and Detective Santiago, Peralta. As her mentor, I feel like I would be accurate in making that assessment.”

His travel-addled brain makes a mental note to tell that to her when he sees her again, after a long time of snorking and reunion sex which he has spent too long fantasizing about during lonely nights in Larry Waltmeyer’s bed. He doesn’t ever hope Amy was sad about him, but a vain part of him hopes she missed him as much as he missed her. He remembers holding her tightly right before he left for WITSEC and the way she cried (and she rarely cried unless there was a dog nearby) into his shirt. He clears his throat but realizes something.

“You know… I think you would be too.”

+

It’s midnight, but Amy Santiago isn’t going to fall asleep. Her boyfriend, the love of her life whom she loves _so much_ , is coming back after being gone for nine months (and one week and five days and around 19 hours and 26 minutes and maybe 55 seconds but who’s counting?) and even though he’s still wrapping up documentation.

And, well, she can’t meet him at the FBI headquarters because there was a bit of an incident. When they were taking down Figgis, she chose to be bait and may or may not have a mild concussion, multiple bruises, lacerations and abrasions, a broken wrist with one of those velcro splints on them, and a sprained ankle. Since it could be worse, much worse, she refuses to complain.

Well, she’ll complain about the fact she should be holding Jake in her arms this very second. She should be kissing him and holding his face. She should be showing him her 20+ scrapbooks and bringing him pizza and watching him reunite with all his friends. She should be watching him hold Ellie, her goddaughter (her _goddaughter_ ), and cry with Charles while Rosa pretends not to be bothered and Gina films the whole thing in order to go viral. She should be sucking up to Holt and being mentored. She should be making love to Jake and sharing a bed again after spending too many nights alone.

And, mixed with her pain meds and general exhaustion from trying to solve the Figgis case, Amy falls asleep on her and Jake’s sofa.

In what feels like a short and long time, there’s someone touching her face. With a jolt, she awakes and suddenly hears a broken voice say, “Oh my god, Ames-”

Even though it’s dark and it’s been months, she’d recognize that voice anywhere and she feels a sob suddenly catch in her throat. “Jake? Oh thank god, you’re here.”

His arms are pulling her towards him and she throws her arms around his shoulders and pulls him close and she’s crying. Full on tears, just sobbing all over him.

They hug and kiss at each other for a solid ten minutes, whispering their names and “I love you”s and “I missed you”s and “never leave me again”s over and over in the sanctity of the dark before they pull away.

Fumbling, she reaches for the light because she needs to see his face. Once the lamp clicks on, she’s seeing Jake, kneeled right in front of her. Just to make sure it’s not a dream, she touches his face with her sprained hand and he doesn’t immediately turn into a bunch of vicious hounds wearing a trench coat like he had in her dreams-turned-nightmares.

He nuzzles his face into her hand, and his eyes flick to the cast, “What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter, not now, let me-” Without a real explanation, she starts touching his face, at the sullen, dark-rimmed bags under his eyes that remind her of long sleepless nights at the station. Her fingers trail to the beard that he’s grown that oddly suits his face. His hair is longer than normal and curls around her fingers. “It’s so good to see you,” She says, her voice cracking slightly.

Jake’s eyes glisten with fresh tears as he kisses the inside of her palm and uses his own hand to touch her cheek. “I love you, it’s so good to see your face.”

“Title of my sex tape?”

“Since you’re tired, I’ll let you have that one,” He smiles, then it falls a bit as he seems to really take in her face. She’s seen the injuries, but that’s been over the course of a few days, she’s acclimated. They’re probably striking to see after seeing her all healthy months ago. “Did Figgis do this to you?” He sounds so destroyed over that, and this should be a beautiful, happy moment.

“He can’t hurt us anymore,” She says instead of a real answer. “You’re back, Jake, you’re here with me  _that’s_ what matters.”

He nods at that, “You’re right, as always.” He takes a shaky breath. “I missed you so fucking much. Did I say that?”

“Once or twice,” She says with a wet smile. She sniffles slightly. “Can- Can we just sleep together? In the same bed? It’s-” She looks over at the clock. 2:45 in the morning.

“Of course,” Jake says and stands up. She goes to stand on one good leg, shakily and he helps her. “You strong, beautiful thing,” He says, mostly under his own breath. She blushes. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“That sounds like the best idea,” Amy agrees, putting an arm around Jake’s shoulders as he wraps an arm around her waist to help her limp to bed because she doesn’t feel like using the crutches they gave her.

In bed, they’re spooning together, her around Jake’s back like a koala while she inhales the scent of him. While she nustled up in bed and pulled on pajamas, he had taken a quick shower and now he smells like his normal body wash instead of airports.

“I love you so much,” She says into his ear, her hand curling around his body to rest on his shoulder. His hand is on her knee, which is curled around him.

“I love you so much too,” Jake says, his voice soft but strong in the darkness of their bedroom. Finally,  _theirs_. “You should rest, Ames, I promise to be here tomorrow morning.”

She kisses the nape of his neck, snuggling closer. “Me too.”

+

Jake is officially done with the longest week of his life, and he couldn’t be happier. He’s back at the precinct, out in the field after passing his psych eval, which is a major thing to check off the checklist he made (okay, okay, _Amy_ made.)

Ray and Kev threw a “welcome back” party at their house with just the squad and their families, and that was nice. Terry and Charles cried most of it, which was oddly reassuring. Gina took pictures of them for blackmail, which was just the kind of dumb thing he needed.

Ava has definitely grown up into a toddler, much bigger than the baby he was used to when he last saw her, but she and Cagney and Lacey all called him “Uncle Jake.” After not seeing him for _months_. He had to excuse himself to cry in the Jeffords’ bathroom for a little bit, which he maintains is justified. Not that anyone knows about it.

Charles cries at the drop of a hat, but he was oddly stoic when they first saw each other after returning from Florida (he did eventually cry). Charles made sure to tell him that he missed him, and Jake made sure to say the same, and to thank him for taking care of Amy, like he knows Charles did. And Ellie, Charles and Genevieve’s adopted daughter, is one of the cutest babies he’s ever seen, and he’s honored to be her godfather by relationship of Amy (he would say by marriage, but he’s not sure if he and Amy are there… yet.) They babysat her one night together, and she somehow manages to have just as weird of taste in food as her parents. It’s adorable.

Upon their reunion, Rosa punched him twice and then hugged him for thirty seconds, which was the best weirdest thing he’s experience. “Thank you for coming back safe,” was all she said. “Are you  _crying_ -” is what he was starting to say because discussing emotions with Diaz is weirder than anything he experienced in Florida so he was thankful she punched him for a third time. But she was doing her Diaz “I’m too cool to smile” smile so she wasn’t actually mad. Adrian is also back, and he’s a bit more normal now that Figgis’s operation is completely dismantled, even with the new haircut and eyebrows. Jake’s invited to their quickie City Hall marriage next week.

Gina and him hugged for a while and compared their Pokemon Go collections while Amy was on desk duty. Surprisingly, at opposite ends of the same coast, they were at a near tie. He’s been working on kicking her ass since being back.

His mom cried for a solid three hours before she was okay with letting him leave her again. Apparently, she and Amy would hang out together once a week and go through old baby pictures of him and he can’t bring himself to mind.

Amy still looks battered and battle-worn, but she’s healing at a good rate, which relaxes him a bit. Terry was the only one to tell him what happened and just thinking about it makes his fists clench. But Amy’s right, what matters is that he’s back and he’s not going anywhere.

It’s been such a busy week, that he didn’t realize he never shared the scrapbooks with Amy, even though they’ve spent every night together. Mostly they’ve either made love, ate food, caught up on his DVR, or just talked.

But he needs to show her.

“Santiago,” He calls at her from his desk.

She looks up from her paperwork, “What, Peralta?”

“I have something I need to show you from Florida tonight,” He says, fiddling with his tie. Don’t tell the Captain, but he missed having an excuse to wear one.

She raises an eyebrow, “I already have the stuffed crocodile.”

“His name is John McGator so he’s _clearly_ an alligator, but- I won’t correct you right now. This is a real thing.”

At that, she smiles, uninhibited. Usually, when they talk about couple stuff at work, she tries to be 100% professional, but this seemed to warm her up. “Oh. Okay,” The smile is still there. She turns back to her computer, “We should grab Sal’s and head back to our place to do it. I have something to show you too.”

He grins too, “Perfect date, babe.”

“Be professional, Peralta, we’re at work,” She chastises, but there’s no heat or anger. No one in the bullpen is paying them any attention. Well, maybe Charles is, but he would probably send them a commendation before filing a harassment suit against them.

“Okay fine: perfect date, _Detective_ Babe.”

She throws her stack of post-its at him. Totally worth it.

+

Amy’s good leg is bouncing up and down as Jake pulls his suitcase back from their room and plops on the ground in front of the sofa. “Wait, before you open yours,” She says as his fingers go for the zipper. He stops and looks up at her. “Can I go first?” 

“Yeah, of course, Ames,” He says, moving back so he’s sitting against the sofa.

She stammers slightly as she stands, “Do you- do you mind closing your eyes?”

Jake raises an eyebrow, “Kinky… I’m in.”

Amy rolls her eyes, but that’s mostly out of a returned habit. Besides the fact they’re overtly cuddly with each other and she has some injuries, it’s like he never left. “It’s not kinky, it’s just a surprise.”

“Sure,” Jake drawls the word, but he does slap his hand over his eyes. “Okay, do whatever you want to me.”

Trying not to laugh, Amy just limps to her hall closet and pushes the box of scrapbooks she made for Jake over to where they’ve camped out with empty pizza boxes and a bottle of eight dollar wine for the past thirty minutes.

“Okay open.”

Jake slowly removes his hand, “Fine, but you didn’t do anything to my naughty parts-” He trails off as he studies the closed box. “What’s that?”

“It’s a box.”

He waits for her to elaborate. She’s too apprehensive to do it. So he asks, “Is there something _in_ the box?”

Smiling nervously, Amy takes her brother’s old pocket knife that she stole years ago and opens the box up to all the scrapbooks she made in his absence. “Ta-da.”

She watches as Jake kneels up and peers into the box. “Are- Are these scrapbooks?” Amy can’t help the wiggle that her body does as he doesn’t immediately react with disgust or annoyance.

“They are. I missed you tons when you were gone, so whenever I went out with the squad or did things that reminded me of you, I would take pictures and put them in their respective scrapbook. Well, I have 26 scrapbooks, one for each letter of the alphabet- Since that was how I organized all the activities, so if I went to a wax museum that’s under ‘W’ and if I went to Sal’s Pizza, that’s actually under ‘P’ for the general pizza-”

Jake gently interrupts her, stopping her from blurting every thought in her head and she immediately stops talking, “ _All_ of these scrapbooks, all of these pages- I assume double-sided,” He stops himself for her affirmation or denial. She nods and he grins brightly, “Santiago Style, of course. All of these scrapbooks… are full of things that reminded you of me?”

She nods, almost like it’s obvious.

“You missed me?” His smile is so soft, and he looks like he’s giving her ‘heart-eyes’ or whatever Gina likes to say.

“I missed you so much, Jake,” Amy says, forcing herself to look at him and not away, “I worked through a lot of it, and my closure rate is better than yours-”

“For _now_ ,” He says, again like a habit.

She ignores him and continues, “But there was still a part of me that was missing and it was you. And this helped, a little bit.” She takes one of the scrapbooks out (the letter A) and holds it to her chest, even though her ribs still ache a bit from the Figgis Incident. “I was seeing you _every_ where, especially here, but _you_ weren’t here. But making these was my way to connect with you.”

He looks so touched and awed and she almost expects him to say “noice” (which is a part of the title for her ‘N’ scrapbook) to kind of backtrack but instead he just moves closer and grabs her good hand and says, “I love you. This is amazing.”

Amy looks sheepishly down at the box but then looks back up, “I love you too. Do you want to go through them?”

“Yes, _ob_ viously,” Jake grabs a slice of lukewarm (“display temperature”) pizza and Amy props the first book on her lap and just goes through everything. In each book.

There are at least three photos on a page, with printed out captions and titles and various stickers and bric-a-brac and decorations. She’s so proud of them, and she’s so happy to finally share them with Jake and explain each detail.

“Here’s Charles and I grabbing a perp from Albany and singing Toni Braxton… Here’s a picture of me and Ava playing with that stuffed lamb you left her… Here’s Rosa at the top of the Empire State Building about to punch a tourist… This is Gina and me at Charles’ beach house, this time with Seven-Drink Amy… Here’s Rosa and I at Sal’s Pizza, display temperature is disgusting by the way… Here’s Gina and I at a Pokestop, whatever that means… This is me with Doug Judy, oh he escaped again but he wanted me to tell you that he misses his best friend and will probably be at Rosa’s wedding-”

“That magnificent bastard,” Jake says dramatically, his fingers digging into Amy’s hips as she’s now propped on his lap. “Oops, sorry,” He says once he recognizes his actions and loosens his grip. “Keep going, babe.”

But then she yawns and looks at the microwave clock. They started at 8 in the evening and now it’s almost 2 in the morning. And they haven’t even finished her P binder.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Jake says, situating themselves to help her stand.

Now that she knows what time it is, she feels so much more exhausted. “But the other binders…” Her voice trails off as her eyes fall close but then they spring open. “And _your_ gift!”

Jake makes a slight face. “We can get to ‘em later, I promise. But for now you should be resting.”

“Stupid concussion,” She grumbles, causing him to laugh quietly and pick her up so he’s carrying her bridal style into their room.

One day, she thinks to herself drowsily, he will carry her across the threshold after an insane but beautiful wedding day.

And that thought doesn’t even make her panic. (And it hasn’t in eight months.)

+

Jake is too afraid to show Amy’s his books. Hers were gorgeous and practically professional (do people actually have jobs making scrapbooks? He hopes not, Amy would probably quit the 9-9 to do it.)

They go through her entire alphabet series of scrapbooks and he loves them, truly. But whenever she asks about his gift to her, he smoothly and elegantly distracts her. For example:

_Amy: “What about what you wanted to show me?”  
Jake: “Uhhhh here” *pulls up video of screaming goat*_

So basically he’s _killing_ it in the distraction department.

One full month after his return, he’s flipping through channels after a long day and an actual car chase when he hears Amy enter their apartment (their apartment, that will always be infinity times better than Larry’s House.)

“Hey, babe!” She calls, her voice carrying throughout their apartment. He turns off the TV. “I got pierogis, potato pancakes, and hot chocolate, because we’re celebrating!”

“Did that girl that beat you for valedictorian get dethroned and you’re finally getting the title?”

“Ha-ha,” She sardonically laughs, and he grins to himself as he stands and goes to meet her in the kitchen.

“Then what’s the occasion?” Jake asks as he’s bombarded with the smell of Polish food. There was no good Polish food in Coral Palms (or any good ethnic food, really) so he’s glad Amy’s still a bad cook since takeout can happen more often. To her credit, Amy actually has gotten better with breakfast food. Anything else is a disaster. He loves it. And her.

“My ankle is officially healed, so I am one more step closer to active duty,” She has a grin on her face, which falls as she lands on her busted wrist. “As much as I love paperwork, I miss being able to go out in the field.”

His heart does an odd tug at the thought of her at the hands of Figgis, but this is a time for celebration. “Perfect, babe, can’t wait to dig in.”

“We are celebrating one more thing,” She says as she grabs plates to set at the table.

“Oh?”

“ _You_ ,” She points a finger at him, whirling around. “Are finally showing me the present you got me.”

Jake’s blood runs cold. “Ah, we don’t need to do that. It’s just another alligator.”

Amy pauses, then cocks her head, “Oh really? Then just give it to me, if it’s ‘just’ another alligator.”

Jake makes a caught noise and then he deflates a bit, “Okay, it’s not a ‘gator and I will show you the real present-” She immediately brightens and he loses the power of speech for a moment before gaining it back. “But you are _not_ allowed to get your hopes up, because it’s not as good as yours.”

Amy just beams at him, still a bright force as she sits down, “I promise I’ll love it.”

Jake just makes another unsure noise, since speech is definitely not a strength at the moment, so he goes to grab the suitcase he had stashed safely in a crawlspace in Amy’s closet.

“Okay, a little explanation,” He says as he props the suitcase up on the table but not on the food and sits down next to her. She nods. “I-” He cuts himself off, fingers tapping on the suitcase fabric.

He takes a deep breath and starts over, “I didn’t like being Larry. Usually… I love playing pretend and thinking up backstories, but that’s only with you,” He says, and when he looks back at her, she double-tucks. Score.

That movement gives him the courage to continue. “So, to make it better, I figured I could bring you into Larry’s life by taking pictures of dumb stuff that reminded me of you and…” He pulls out “I’m Horrible At This When Can We Stop” and passes it to her.

She gasps as she runs her fingers over the scrapbook cover and spine. “We- We had the same idea?” She looks back up at him after studying the front of the book, “You, _Jake Peralta_ , made me a scrapbook because you missed me?”

“I- yeah, I know it’s not as good as yours-” He’s cut off by her throwing herself at him, and he catches her in his lap. Before he can even think, she’s fixing her mouth to his, and again he has no verbal response except for to immediately make out with her back.

After they finish making out, his hands stay on her hips and her hand is still at his collarbone, and then her forehead touches his. “You made me a scrapbook,” She says, a bit out of breath. He’s not sure if it’s from the snorking or the emotions. “You missed me so much you made me a scrapbook,” It’s not a question, but he feels the need to explain.

“Well, I kind of made you three-”

“ _Three_?” She asks, incredulous, and then she smiles so brightly that Jake can’t help but smile back. “I love you, Jake. So much.” She starts kissing at his lips and moving around his jaw. “So fucking much.”

Jake feels overwhelmed and his throat is closing a bit so he tries to lighten the mood by saying, “Did you just _swear_ -”

She rolls her eyes but then presses their faces together again. “No noice. No smort. Just I love you. You-You made me a scrapbook. _Three_.”

“It must be love,” He agrees, something his mom used to say playfully whenever he did something nice for her. “Do you wanna read them?”

She leans back a bit and claps her hands together, “Of course!” She moves back to the scrapbook and starts flipping through.

It’s been so long since he’s actually looked at the scrapbooks, and so much has happened since his return, and he feels like he’s forgetting something.

He watches as Amy reads through the first page, a pleased grin on her face. Eh, he figures. It doesn’t really matter.

+

Amy could not be more proud of Jake or of their relationship and how they’ve rubbed off on each other and helped each other grow. Her grammar may be a bit worse off than it was before, but he made her _three_ scrapbooks. He’s right, it must be love.

“You have such raw talent,” She tells him, for the hundredth time. It’s after midnight, but she’s almost done with the third scrapbook, “We Never Go Out Of (Romantic) Style(z).” The titles are ridiculous but insanely clever, so she doesn’t try to hide her amusement about them.

The tips of his ears turn pink, “I was mostly just bored,” He says. “I tried to remember what your ‘From Ray-to-Z’ scrapbook looked like-”

“You read that?” She asks, puzzled. She doesn’t remember showing it to him, or even leaving it around her desk in the open.

He gives her his ‘C’mon Ames’ look. “C’mon. Ames. Like I _wasn’t_ going to read your sucking-up-to-Holt picture book.”

“Fair,” She acknowledges as she turns a page, looking at Jake, Ray, and Kevin in a pirate museum. “That was one of my finer pieces, until the scrapbooks centered around you came to fruition.” When she wasn’t solving the Figgis case, she was making scrapbooks and doing activities to fill said scrapbooks or going to the store to get supplies to make the scrapbooks. And in those spare hours, she was sleeping. Maybe.

“You could call it your Jake Period,” He says, “Like with Picasso and blue.”

The Art Historian in her practically melts at the reference, “I think I will.” With that, she flips to the last page and her eyes trail over it, catching on the centerpiece of the page. “Oh my god.”

There, in a plastic bag stapled to the page, is a white gold diamond ring. It’s simple and understated yet stunning and classic and all of Amy’s thoughts about educating Jake on the proper use of bric-a-brac leave her. Surrounding the bagged ring is “Will you marry me?” in gold and silver glitter pen.

“Oh fuck, _that’s_ what I forgot,” Jake blurts out. “Dammit, you weren’t supposed- I mean, I- That’s not- It’s too- _Dammit_ -”

“Jake, is that an engagement ring?” She needs to get that squared away and certain, because if it’s not then she shouldn’t freak out. She’s not sure what a proper reaction would be, though, if it is.

He goes to take the book from her but she slaps both her arms on it and keeps her close. He goes to tug but she gives him a look. His hands pull away, and his shoulders hunch forward. “It is,” His voice is soft and quiet, “It’s an engagement ring.”

“For me? From you?” She clarifies.

He nods.

“You want me to marry you?”

“Yes, absolutely,” He says immediately, then grimaces like he wants to take the words back and something breaks inside her and she looks back down at the gorgeous ring that isn’t actually hers. But then he explains, “Well, not like _tomorrow_ or even in a week. Whenever you’re ready. I know I’ve been gone for months and while this month has been _awesome_ and I’ve missed you _tons_ and we love each other _so much_ but you know, I don’t want to force or guilt you into a marriage with me-”

“What if I want to say yes?” She asks, looking up at him, taking her eyes off the ring in the bag in the binder.

Jake stops his stammering, “No way.”

She tries so hard not to laugh. “Yes way. I want to marry you. Do you want to marry me?”

“Yes, of course. Absolutely,” Jake says and Amy takes the ring out of the bag and slips it on her ring finger. A perfect fit.

“How did you get the right size?” 

“Gina made me buy her dozens of rings growing up, I got really good at guessing sizes,” Jake explains but then he pauses and a smile slowly spreads on his face. “Does this mean we’re engaged?” 

She looks at the ring, perfect against her skin even with the cast near her knuckles and feels the happiest tears well in her eyes, “Yeah, it does.”

“We’re getting married, Ames,” Jake says, and he looks so pleased and smiley and she’s so proud to be part of the reason that smile is on his face. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” And with that she leans over to kiss him. Before she knows it, the kiss is deepening. But the planner in her has a brand new checklist to accomplish, “Let’s tell everyone, and show everyone my new ring! I have to call my parents, and my brothers-ha, someone _is_ willing to marry me and- _oh_! I wonder how Raymond is going to react-”

“Well…” Jake gently interrupts, moving a hand to caress her shoulder that was previously cupping her cheek. “I was thinking we could celebrate _alone_ together first,” He says, using his “sexy, deep, George Clooney” voice.

And she knows she’s in deep when it works on her.

“C’mon, Mr. Santiago,” She says, pulling him up to take him to bed.

“Lead the way, Mrs. Peraltiago.”

“We are _not_ doing a ship name as our married last name,” She says, spinning around, trying to hold her ground and not laugh.

Jake just smoothly presses her against the wall, “Uh, if I got you to agree to marry me, I think I can convince you to be Mrs. Amy Peraltiago,” His tone is cocky as he cups her breast and his lips kiss at her sweet spot.

“We’ll see,” She says, distracted and non-committal but still in a competitive frame of mind, “Convince me.”

He pulls back to look at her in the dim light from the kitchen, and she watches as his dark brown eyes light up with the challenge in that familiar way that makes her knees weak, “I think that can be arranged…”

(They end up hyphenating.)

(And Holt definitely approves.)

(And the wedding scrapbook is their best work by far.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for making it this far, I really appreciate it. If you guys want, I’d love to make a series of little ficlet/drabbles that show the details of Jake and Amy’s respective adventures while the other was gone. So if you want that, feel free to let me know in the comments or in my ask on tumblr (I’m @stardustsantiago).


End file.
